It wasn’t love, but close enough
to leave behind a quiet bluff—
a haunting touch, a distant flame,
a whisper when you said my name.
You didn’t stay, you didn’t run,
you offered shade, but not the sun.
You held the door, but stayed inside—
just close enough to feel, then hide.
I didn’t fall for you alone—
I fell for what I might have known.
The way you looked, the way you spoke,
the way your kindness nearly broke
the walls I built to hold my pain,
the hunger tucked behind the name.
I longed for love, not fantasy—
but still, you brought it close to me.
You didn’t choose me. That’s okay.
But part of me still aches today.
Not for your hand, not for your kiss—
but for the weight of what I miss.
Not you exactly—just the dream,
the warmth beneath a half-formed beam,
the thought that maybe I was seen—
not patched, not fixed—but finally clean.
And now you're near, but not the same.
We’re playing friends inside the flame.
I smile, I nod, I let it slide—
but parts of me still burn inside.
So if I seem a step behind,
or pause too long, or lose my mind—
please know I’m letting go with grace
of something that was never place.
You were the ghost of almost mine,
a nearly love, a distant sign.
And though I walk a different track—
some echoes still don’t echo back.
©dannyray88
D